Death:
Don't mind me. I've got a book to read.
Death:
I was at a party, you know.
Trymon:
I hope it's a good party!
Death:
I think it might go downhill at midnight.
Trymon:
Why?
Death:
That's when they'll be taking my mask off.
Cohen the Barbarian:
Hot water. Good dentishtry. Shoft lavatory paper.
Rincewind:
That's old Twoflower for you. He just appreciates beauty in his own way. I mean, if a poet sees a daffodil, he stares at it and then writes a long poem. But Twoflower would wander off and buy a book on botany, and then as he reads it he would tread on the daffodil.
Death:
Your lifetime is up, Rincewind. I can't hang around all day.
Rincewind:
I can. What have you done with the tourist?
Death:
Nothing. He was lured by the attraction of the Wyrmberg.
Rincewind:
So at least the Patrician won't be sending out his men to kill me just yet then?
Death:
There is a distinct possibility that he may not need to.
Rincewind:
What are you grinning at?
Death:
Oh, I'm sorry. I can't help it. Now, would you be so kind as to let go? It won't hurt.
Rincewind:
Being torn to pieces by wolves won't hurt?
Death:
It would be over very quickly. And of course, they are an endangered species.
Death:
I think I've just had another Near Rincewind Experience.
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